The view from our counter table at L’Atelier du Joel Robuchon. I think we were looking for some home comforts because what we have been confronted with so far has been so alien. An international restaurant where staff speak fluent English (and French) might have been something we were subconsciously craving. This 2-star restaurant served us a truly memorable tasting menu where every course was perfect, but stand-outs included an amuse of perfect jabugo ham, a chestnut soup with pancetta and foie gras, some exquisite Fukuoka sea-bass with artichokes and the piece de oh-my-fucking god, some soy-marinated quail with Robuchon’s trademark pomme puree (something like 19 parts butter to 1 part potato). If we weren’t having a good enough time already, the great man HIMSELF, holder of 25 Michelin stars, stepped out to say bonsoir. Which was nice.